


Shelter

by sahraylia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fatherhood, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Two Fathers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 13:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahraylia/pseuds/sahraylia
Summary: Stiles and Derek comfort their daughters during a storm.





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> do you ever cry bc stiles and derek as parents

“Daddy.”

“Mmm.”

“… Daddy.”

“Mmf?”

“Daddy, wake up. I’m scared.”

Stiles blinks a few times, slowly dragging himself from the warm depths of sleep as his eyes attempt to adjust to the relative darkness in the room. He can make out a small, curly-haired shadow standing beside his bed, and he instantly recognizes it as his six-year-old daughter.

“Becks?” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “What’s wrong, goose?”

“There’s a storm outside,” Derek rumbles into the back of his neck. His arms and legs are still wrapped around Stiles’ body, but he’s clearly been awake for a few seconds longer than Stiles, his werewolf senses always more sharply attuned at night.

Stiles looks to the window, and sure enough, heavy, angry sheets of rain are pelting the glass. A dark roll of thunder sounds, quickly accompanied by a stark flash of lightning, and Stiles can hear Becks whimpering a little.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, gentle. He pulls back the covers and opens his arms, and he can feel Derek automatically shifting behind him to make room. “C’mere.”

His daughter immediately crawls into the offered space, nestling the crown of her head under Stiles’ chin and clutching the front of his t-shirt with her tiny fists. She sniffles. Stiles can feel the tell-tale dampness of tears seeping into the fabric of his collar.

“Shh, it’s okay, Becks,” he soothes, cradling the back of her head with one hand and rubbing soft circles into the base of her spine with the other. “You’re safe, it’s okay.”

“Hey, Dad,” says Avie, their eight-year-old daughter, and Derek’s own biological child. Stiles cranes his neck to look towards their doorway. Avie is hovering there, her black curtain of hair cascading over her shoulders.

“I just wanted to make sure Becks was okay,” she begins, but Stiles recognizes that hint of a defensive tone. Now that his eyes have fully adjusted to the night, he can see that she’s biting her lower lip, and he sighs inwardly.

She’s trying not to show it because she wants to be brave and reassuring for Becks (her werewolf nature is so strong, always quick to protect her baby sister, in whatever way she can, even after Becks started displaying signs of powerful magic four years ago), but Stiles knows Avie’s tells: she’s a little scared of the storm, too.

Derek has obviously picked up on this as well, or at least he’s noticed a rise in Avie’s heartbeat, because he doesn’t even turn to say, “Come in, Avie.”

Avie hesitates for a beat, then she enters and wordlessly climbs up onto Derek’s side of the bed, sliding over Derek’s hips until she’s comfortably ensconced in the divot between her fathers’ bodies. She instantly wriggles one hand under Stiles’ bicep and grasps a few of Becks’ fingers.

Another growling drumroll of thunder shakes the foundations of the house, and Becks cries out at the answering bolt of lightning. Stiles kisses the top of her head and murmurs quietly as he feels Avie squeeze Becks’ hand. Derek presses in close behind them and envelops his enormous arms around all three of their bodies. Everyone is silent for a few seconds.

“The storm can’t hurt you, Becks,” Avie says, her voice resolutely firm, though Stiles can feel her trembling minutely against him. “It can’t hurt any of us.”

“Avie’s right,” says Derek. “We’re all here together, and that makes us stronger than the storm.” His voice is steady, his arms and the rest of his body still, reliable. Everything about him is an anchor, a haven. Stiles smiles fondly, a warm curl of love, devotion, and pride blooming behind his ribs.

“Promise?” Becks finally whispers, hopeful.

They respond in unison. “Promise.”

A moment or two passes, then Becks relaxes marginally in Stiles arms, but it’s enough. “Okay.”

As soon as Becks is at ease, Avie unwinds, too, and Stiles thinks,  _ _There we go.__ He feels Derek’s lips brush a brief kiss at the skin behind his ear, and he shivers. Derek is humming contentedly in the back of his throat, and in higher tones, so is Avie. A sense of rightness thrums beneath Stiles’ skin, and his eyes flutter shut once more.

A few minutes later, they are all secure in sleep, sheltered.


End file.
